


A Beginning in an End

by chellefic



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Community: kissbingo, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-16
Updated: 2010-08-16
Packaged: 2017-10-29 10:37:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/318986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chellefic/pseuds/chellefic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the midst of a battle, Cas sends Dean somewhere safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Beginning in an End

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Grrrl and Moonlettuce for the betas.

The knife tore into his shoulder and Dean fell back, the demon pressing down onto him. A hand curled around his ankle and a single word rang in his head: safe.

***

Spinning, Dean looked around him. There were trees and a house, a wood pile. None of it even slightly familiar. And no Castiel. "Cas!" No response. "Cas!"

His shoulder was screaming at him and he gripped the knife, pulling slowly. He needed to get the knife out, stop the bleeding and find Cas.

"Dean!"

Dean turned toward the sound. Cas was coming out of the house. A moment later Cas was there, one arm supporting Dean's back as fingers touched his forehead.

***

The bed was soft and comfortable and Dean had no urge to open his eyes. It wouldn't hurt, if he napped-- Except.

He sat up. His shirt was gone and his wound was healed. There were two open windows on his left, a table with a lamp and an alarm clock on his right, and a framed Led Zeppelin poster on the wall behind him. Pushing himself from the bed, he stepped into the hallway. There were two other rooms off from the hallway with a window at one end and a stairway at the other. Classical music was coming from the direction of the stairs, so he headed there.

Partway down the stairs he spotted Cas, who was sitting on a large couch, a book open in his lap.

"You're awake," Cas said, smiling at him. He lifted a remote and the music stopped. Setting the book on the couch, he stood. "How are you feeling?"

"Fine. What is this place? What are we doing here? Since when can you heal again? And, what's with the new clothes?" Cas had ditched his suit and trench coat for a pair of blue jeans and a navy t-shirt.

"A better question might be when are you."

"When?" Dean echoed, taking a step toward Cas.

"2017."

"Come again?"

"You're in 2017. I've been expecting you."

"Expecting me?"

Cas looked straight at him. If this Cas really was from the future, he clearly hadn't learned not to study people like they were bugs yet. "You told me you'd be coming."

"I told you."

Cas nodded.

Dean took a deep breath. "If I'm in 2017, where are you? The other you?"

"He's still fighting the demons."

Which made it three on one. "You have to send me back."

"I will. Once you're ready."

"Ready? I'm fixed. Send me back."

"He'll be fine, Dean. I can send you back to just moments after you left. You'll arrive in plenty of time and we'll both get out alive.

"How do you know that?"

"Because that's how I remember it."

Dean rubbed his forehead. "I hate time travel."

"Understandably. Come on," Cas tilted his head to the right. "You've lost a lot of blood. You need food and water."

When Dean nodded, Cas led him into a small kitchen with a round table in the center of it. "Have a seat," Cas said, and Dean dropped into a chair. The windows here were open, too, and a breeze was flowing into the kitchen, making the curtains flutter.

Cas opened the fridge, then turned and placed several packages of cold cuts on the table along with a jar of mayo. He removed a plate from a cupboard, and a knife and some bread from drawers. He did it all without searching for a single item.

"Is this your kitchen?" Dean asked as Cas placed a glass of water in front of him.

"It is," Cas said, taking the seat next to Dean's.

Dean opened the bread, taking out a couple of slices, then the ham. Cas shouldn't need a kitchen. If he'd healed Dean he had his mojo back, and if he had his mojo back then he didn't need to eat. But there were bigger questions Dean needed answered first. "So I take it we survived the apocalypse."

"We did," Cas said, watching as Dean spread mayo on his bread.

"You want to tell me how that happened so I can go back and make it happen again?"

Cas shook his head. "I agreed not to."

"Yeah, well un-agree."

"I can't do that."

"Yes, you can. This is the fucking apocalypse we're talking about and you know how we can save people, how we can survive."

Cas looked him straight in the eye. His gaze wasn't hard like it was in the early days, right after he'd pulled Dean from hell. But there wasn't any give there either. "I promised you," Cas said.

For some reason, the idea of getting Cas to break a promise to him, even if it isn't him, made Dean feel like squirming. Turning his gaze from Cas, he picked up the package of sliced turkey. "You got any Swiss?"

Cas wordlessly pushed a package across the table.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"So, where's Sam?" Dean asked, opening the package, hoping he wasn't going to hear 'dead' or 'in hell' or 'serving as Lucifer's meat suit.'

"Oxford. He's doing graduate work in anthropology."

"Anthropology?" Dean asked, relief coursing through him.

"He's becoming a recognized expert on occult religions."

Snorting, Dean picked up his sandwich. "I'll bet he is. How's he doing outside of school? Is he happy?"

"He seems to be. You go over about once a month for the weekend."

"How do I manage--"

Cas held up his hand, with his index and middle fingers raised.

"Angel airlines," Dean said. "Bobby?"

"He has a girlfriend."

Taking a bite from his sandwich, Dean turned that bit of information over in his head as he chewed. "What's she like?"

"Strong. Capable. She's a hunter."

"Anyone I know?"

"Not yet."

Dean nodded. He had a lot more questions, but he really was hungry. Blood loss did that to him. He bit into his sandwich.

He was still eating when Cas tilted his head to the side, as if he was listening to something. "I need to go."

"Go? Where? You have to send me back."

"I won't be gone long. Please make yourself at home while I'm gone," Cas said. Then he vanished.

"God damn it," Dean muttered. Then he wondered if maybe God was what had called Cas away. Cas had been searching for him, after all.

With nothing to do but finish his sandwich, Dean ate.

When he was done, he put the cold cuts back in the fridge and the dishes in the dishwasher, before going into the living room. The room was kind of rustic, exposed beams, a wooden floor, built in bookshelves along one wall. Dean had never cared for fancy rooms, like they saw in some of the houses they visited. Simple and comfortable was his style, if a guy who'd spent most of his life in cars and motel rooms could have a style.

The shelves held multiple versions of the Bible in various languages -- no surprise there -- along with a couple copies of the Koran and the Bhagavad Gita, whatever that was. There was a complete set of Vonnegut, maybe future him had convinced Cas to try them, and some books by David Brin. He'd found one of the guy's books in a motel room once, apparently left behind by the previous customers. It had had this group of alien kids in it, none of whom were human, all of whom liked Mark Twain.

Studying the spines, he pulled out the one that looked familiar and skimmed the back. This was the book. Putting it back, he pulled out the book next to it. Bingo. The sequel.

Taking the book with him to the couch, he settled in to read.

***

"Put that on."

Blinking, Dean pushed away the cloth covering his face. He was standing a few feet away. Another future Dean, that was just what he needed. He must've dozed off. Sitting up, he glanced around the room for a clock. "What time is it?"

"Just after five," other Dean answered.

"Is Cas back yet?"

Other Dean shook his head. "No."

"Where'd he go anyway?"

"Did he get this weird look on his face, like he was listening to a conversation miles away, and then announce he had to go?" other Dean asked.

Dean put his arms behind him, stretching his chest. "Yeah."

"Heaven, probably. You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"I'll heat up some stew," Dean said, heading back toward the kitchen. "Put the shirt on. Looking at my own naked chest is weird."

Dean pulled the t-shirt over his head and followed himself into the kitchen. Other Dean opened the fridge and handed him a beer. Dean glanced at the label. Magic Hat. He'd never heard of them. Other Dean handed him a bottle opener and Dean popped off the cap before taking a long drink. "Not bad."

"I like it," other Dean said, turning his attention back to the refrigerator.

Leaning against the doorway, Dean studied the other him. He was dressed like Dean always dressed, jeans, a t-shirt, and an open button-down shirt. "Cas said you knew I was coming."

"I did," Dean answered, pulling a large bowl from the refrigerator.

"How?"

"Because eight years ago, Cas and I were fighting some demons. I got stabbed in the shoulder. Cas grabbed my ankle and sent me away. Only he must've messed up, because I ended up here."

Dean took a step forward. "You're telling me you did this all before?"

Turning his back on Dean, the other him took out a pot and began emptying the contents of the bowl into it. "Yes."

"Only you were me?" Which sounds ridiculous, but that's his life, their life. Lives. Whatever.

"Yup."

"That's just weird."

"Tell me about it," other Dean said, placing the pot on the stove and turning on the heat.

Dean took a long drink from his beer, then pulled out a chair and sat at the table. "You won."

"Kind of."

"You're alive. Sam, Bobby and Cas are alive. The place hasn't been turned into an angelic paradise or hell on Earth." Dean paused for a moment. "Has it?"

"No," other Dean said, leaning back against the counter.

"Tell me how you did it."

Other Dean shook his head. "I can't do that."

"How can I do what you did if I don't know what that was?" Dean countered, his voice getting slightly louder.

"What if by telling you, I screw something up? It's the temporal prime directive."

"Do I look like Seven of Nine to you?"

The other Dean smiled, like Dean had said something amusing. "Do me a favor. Don't make that comparison in front of Cas. He really likes Voyager and comparing us to Seven would probably keep him amused for hours."

"Cas likes _Star Trek_?"

"He's got a little more free time now."

Dean pulled in a deep breath. The other Dean was trying to distract him. "What if you don't tell me and I screw something up because I don't know what the hell it is I'm supposed to do?" Dean hadn't meant to raise his voice, but if anyone should understand what was at stake it was other him.

"I know how scared you are," other Dean said, turning to stir whatever was in the pot. "But I don't think you can do this wrong, not if you do what you know is right."

"I screwed it up once before." Dean couldn't escape the feeling that he was just one wrong decision away from the future Zachariah had shown him. That Dean, that world, they were still too close, like the possibility of them was there, under his skin, in his bones.

"You were letting your anger and fear make your decisions for you. You aren't doing that anymore."

He hoped not, hoped reconciling with Sam was putting them both on the right track, but he wasn't certain. The fate of the fucking world was riding on his decisions; he needed to know he was making the right ones. And this asshole could tell him what to do, and wouldn't. "We should ask Cas. He's the one who knows about time travel, after all."

"He knows less than you think. He's an angel, not a theoretical physicist." Other Dean leaned over the stove and tasted whatever was in the pot. Reaching into a cupboard, he pulled down a couple of bowls and filled them.

The bowl he placed in front of Dean was filled with a dark brown liquid, along with chunks of what looked like carrots and potatoes and meat.

"It's venison stew," other Dean said.

"Deer meet?" Dean asked as the other him took the seat at a right angle from his.

"You'll like it."

Dean filled his spoon and lifted it to his mouth. It was good. "Not bad. Is this what you hunt now?"

"No. The meat came from a co-worker."

"Co-worker? As in job?" Dean couldn't imagine having a job. But then he couldn't imagine living in a house or making dinner either.

"Yes, as in job."

"Tell me it's not some stupid yuppie gig."

"I fix classic cars."

That sounded kind of cool. Except. "You don't hunt anymore?"

"The job's only work four days a week, which leaves three for hunting."

To do jobs, you had to get to them. And in Dean's experience that meant being on the road. "Yeah, but how do you get there?"

Other Dean raised his hand, holding up two fingers.

"Angel airlines."

"You never have to check your luggage," other Dean said.

"Cas has nothing better to do than transport you around the country."

"Nope. Plus, the other hunters call us with the most dangerous stuff."

Dean nodded. It made sense. He had the other him talking. If he kept him talking, he might learn something. "Work on anything interesting today?"

Other him grinned. "An Oldsmobile Delta 88."

"You can't be serious."

"I am." The other him sounded as smug as Dean would've if he'd spent the day with a Delta 88.

"What year?"

"1950."

"Rocket V-8 engine?" Dean asked.

"The original."

An original Rocket V-8, there wasn't much Dean wouldn't give to get his hands on an engine like that and he had no problem listening to smug Dean talk about it as he finished his stew.

They'd finished eating, and had moved on to discussing the 1962 Dodge Dart other Dean had worked on a month earlier, when Dean rose and started filling the dishwasher. Dean would've helped, but, hey, he was a guest.

Other Dean was putting the empty bowls into it when Cas appeared. "Hi, honey, how was the office?" he asked without looking up.

"I very nearly turned Raphael into Wile E. Coyote."

Dean barely managed to avoid choking on his beer.

Other Dean smirked. "Told you it was a good idea."

Cas turned toward Dean. "Hello, Dean."

"Notice I got him a shirt," other Dean said.

"I wasn't aware he needed one," Cas said, turning his head to look at other Dean.

"Of course you weren't," other Dean said, closing the dishwasher.

There was an undercurrent of something between them, but Dean wasn't much interested in figuring it out. "So Cas," he said, "what do you think of the temporal prime directive?"

"Do I agree we shouldn't tell you too much about our past because in doing so we might inadvertently change the past, thus ending our own existence?" Cas asked.

"Yeah, that," Dean said, resting an arm over the back of the chair and angling his body toward Cas.

"I do."

"Why? Because he says he's been through this before?"

"Dean," Cas said, sitting in the chair other him had vacated. "He told me exactly when you would arrive, what you would be wearing, where your wound would be. He knew, because he'd been through it. Just like I know you come back in time to keep those demons from killing me."

"That doesn't mean he's right about this."

"No, but if another you didn't tell him anything and this is the result, then I see no reason to change that course of action and risk failure."

Dean glared at him for a long moment, then rose and stalked away.

He made his way to the back porch. Leaning his forearms on the railing, he dropped his head. He was pissed at Dean, but Cas, Cas siding with the other him stung. Which was stupid. it wasn't as if Cas was choosing other him over him, even though it kind of felt that way.

Maybe they were right. Dean could see the logic of it, but logic couldn't stop the fear churning in his gut. If it had just been fear for himself, he could've lived with it, but he wasn't afraid for himself. Not only himself.

He was tired of being strong. Tired of being fucking Atlas. He wanted to spend his days working on cool cars and then come home and hang out with Cas. Maybe they should send the other him back. He already knew what to do, how to fix things. And Dean could stay here.

Cas stepped onto the porch, but Dean ignored him, looking out at the trees behind the house instead.

"You will succeed, Dean. The world will be saved," Cas said.

"And you know that how? Because it's happened before? Well, guess what, the world not being saved has happened before, too."

"I know," Cas said, leaning on the rail next to Dean. "You must have faith."

"In God?" Dean really didn't want to have this conversation again.

"In yourself."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm someone worth believing in."

"You're resilient, resourceful, strong, compassionate, principled. When you look at yourself you only see your weaknesses, your failures. You overlook your strengths, your accomplishments."

Dean swallowed and shifted his gaze toward the far end of the yard.

"When I first touched your soul, I thought you were the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen."

Dean turns at that, and Cas catches Dean's gaze with his own.

"Beauty can't be found in perfection, Dean. It exists in the interplay between light and dark, strength and weakness, good and evil. Why do you think angels are so ugly? There is no beauty in obedience, in perfection."

"You think failure is beautiful?"

"Failing and staying on your knees is tragic. Failing and getting back on your feet is beautiful."

Dean shook his head. "You're a strange guy, Cas."

The corners of Cas's mouth twitched. "That's true. But I know you. I know what you're capable of, and I believe you can do this."

"Because I'm the righteous man?"

"Because you're you."

There was something in Cas's gaze that made him flush, made him want to believe. Dean looked away. "Why Wile E. Coyote?"

"You suggested it. Said it would humble him."

If anyone needs humbling, it's Raphael. "I suggested turning an archangel into Wile E. Coyote?"

"You suggested trapping him in the cartoons," Cas said, sounding pleased with the idea.

"Could you do it?"

"I haven't tried, but it's possible."

The conversation felt safer now and Dean turned to look at him. "That would take some serious mojo."

"I have serious mojo."

"Then why are you hanging out with me?"

"Where else would you suggest I hang out?"

The truth was Dean wanted Cas to hang out with him. Past Cas, this Cas, he liked being around them. Wanted them to like being around him. "Better here than heaven."

"Much better," Cas agreed.

The conversation tapered off after that, which was fine by Dean. He liked the quiet, sometimes, and Cas was good at quiet.

Other Dean came out on the porch carrying three beers. Dean accepted his with a thanks. Other him sat in a wooden chair, one of the ones with the wide arms and an angled back. Dean took the remaining chair, while Cas simply sat on the porch floor and leaned back against the railing. There was an ease in his movements, in the position of his body that reminded Dean of the other Cas, the one with the fondness for orgies and pills.

Dean was certain this Cas wasn't doing any of those things, but he was obviously more at home in his human form than the Cas Dean knew.

He took a drink of his beer. "This really is good."

"Gotta love those local breweries," the other Dean said. "Vermont has more breweries per capita than any other state."

"And more atheists," Cas said, sounding less disapproving than Dean would've expected.

"Did you move here for the beer or the atheists?" Dean asked.

Other Dean flashed him the teasing grin and Dean decided his teasing grin was nowhere near as attractive as he'd thought it was. "The gay marriage."

"How many hours are there of Road Runner cartoons?" Cas asked and both Deans turned to look at him. Cas appeared pissed.

"You could put them on an infinite loop," other Dean said as Cas stood.

"I just might." Leaning down, Cas kissed the other him. It was short, but it was still a kiss.

Dean felt his jaw drop.

"Don't upset him," Cas said to other him. "I should be home by morning." Turning to Dean, Cas said, "I'll return you to your time when I get back."

Shutting his mouth, Dean nodded. Cas disappeared and Dean turned toward the other him. "You and Cas?"

"I can't believe it took you this long to figure it out. It's obvious we both live here. What did you think we were, roommates?"

"But..." Dean stuttered. "I like women. You like women."

"Which doesn't mean we can't like Cas, too."

Dean couldn't argue with that. "But how?"

Other Dean gave him a look, the one with the eyebrows and the not-quite-smirk. "You really don't need me to explain the mechanics, do you?"

"Don't be stupid," Dean said, ignoring the look. "I meant how did the two of you get together? Cas is still-- Sex just seems to scare him."

"He gets over that." The other him didn't need to sound so smug about it.

"How long have you been together?" Dean asked.

Other Dean shook his head.

"Oh, come on," Dean said, sitting up straight in his chair, which with the way it was designed wasn't easy.

"I'm happy. And I'm not going to let you screw it up."

"I wouldn't screw it up."

"Maybe you would. Maybe you wouldn't. Better not to take the chance."

Him and Cas. Together. Complete with kissing and sex and conversations about Cas's job. A house. Star Trek re-runs. He'd never figured on a life full of domestic bliss, but he'd apparently gotten one. With an angel.

An angel who claimed to be strong enough to trap an archangel in a cartoon.

"You don't have to give me details," Dean said. "Just tell me how. Or why."

The other him looked at Dean then down at the beer in his hands, then back at Dean. "Cas is... Well, he's Cas, you know? I can talk to him. His skewed way of looking at the world, it's funny and it makes you think at the same time."

Dean nodded. That part, he understood.

"Plus, the sex is awesome."

Having met orgy Cas, Dean didn't find that hard to believe. "You love him."

"Yeah, I do."

Dean took a long drink from his beer.

"Want to hear about the Camaro I worked on last year?" other Dean asked.

"Sure," Dean said. Leaning back in his chair, he stared out at the night half of his attention on Dean while the other half moved from thoughts of Cas to beauty and back again.

Dean wasn't sure how long they sat there, but his eyes had drifted shut when the other Dean nudged him with his knee. "Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Time for bed."

Opening his eyes, Dean looked up at other him. He looked just like the face Dean saw in the mirror every morning, only multidimensional. Dean studied him, looking for the ruthlessness he'd seen in that other Dean, but this Dean didn't have it. He wondered what had made the difference, if it was reconciling with Sam or the thing with Cas. Maybe it was winning instead of spending years fighting a losing battle.

"Do you believe in me?" Dean asked himself.

"Yes," other Dean said. "But then I don't have a choice."

"Dick," Dean said.

"You know it. Now, come on, let's get you to bed."

Standing, Dean followed the other him into the house.

***

Cas was standing in the doorway when Dean woke up, sunlight streaming over the bed.

"Tell me you weren't watching me sleep."

"I wasn't watching you sleep. Did you sleep well?"

Sitting up, Dean started to stretch, then lowered his arms when he noticed how closely Cas was watching. "Yeah, I did."

"There are clean clothes in the bathroom. What would you like for breakfast?"

"You cook?"

"I do."

"Are you any good?"

"I made the stew you ate last night."

The stew had been good. "Do you use your angel mojo to get the spices right?"

Cas laughed. It was nothing like orgy Cas's hollow laugh or his Cas's tentative laugh. It was real and honest and it made Dean feel better somehow. "What else would I use my angel powers for, if not to make your food taste better?" Cas asked.

"Exactly. Do you have bacon and eggs?"

"Let me guess, you want the eggs scrambled and cooked in the bacon grease."

"Please."

There was a toothbrush still in its wrappings next to the sink, and Dean brushed his teeth before stepping into a hot shower, where he stayed until it wasn't hot anymore.

He dressed in the jeans and shirt Cas had left for him and followed the smell of coffee downstairs.

Cas was standing at the stove, scrambling eggs. There was a clean mug next to the coffeepot and Dean helped himself.

Leaning against the counter, he cupped the mug in his hands and sipped. "Did you turn Raphael into Wile?"

"Unfortunately, no. But I did strip him of the ability to take a vessel. He won't be setting foot on Earth for a very long time."

"That must've pissed him off."

"He pissed me off."

Dean was tempted to ask what Raphael did, but Cas was spooning the eggs onto a plate beside several pieces of crispy-looking bacon. Cas held out the plate and Dean happily took it, carrying it to the table along with his coffee.

Cas followed.

For the first few minutes, Dean focused on his food. He was starving. But mainly he didn't know what to say to Cas. 'I hear you're awesome in bed,' probably wasn't going to cut it.

"Ask me what you want to know, Dean," Cas said, because Cas always had to confront things head on. Normally, it was something they had in common.

"Why me?"

"Why not you?"

"That's not an answer, and you know it."

"All right," Cas said. He looked down at the table, at the coffee he wasn't actually drinking. Didn't need to drink because he was an angel. An angel powerful enough to strip abilities from Raphael. And Raphael was fucking scary. Apparently in Dean's case his other half really was the better half. For a crazy moment, he wondered if the other him had been serious about the gay marriage thing.

"For a long time I had feelings for you," Cas said, his voice steady but quiet. "Feelings I didn't understand, couldn't name. I ignored them, partly because I didn't have a lot of time to spare thinking about them, and partly because I hate being confused." Cas lifted his gaze to Dean's. "One day, you reached for me. I reached back. It was less confusing after that."

Dean wanted to ask for more, for details, a time, a place. How he had reached out. But it felt like prying.

He'd reached for Cas. Cas had reached back. Dean didn't believe in fate or destiny, but him reaching for Cas, that felt inevitable.

Not knowing what to say, he turned his attention back to his breakfast.

When he was done, Cas led him into the living room and handed him the knife he'd arrived with.

Cupping Dean's face in his hands, Cas whispered, "Have faith, Dean." Then he pressed a kiss to Dean's forehead.

An instant later, he was back in a room too small for the fight that had taken place within it. Cas was on the ground, a demon kneeling over him.

Dean moved instinctively, driving his knife into the center of the demon's back. The demon arched and Dean wrenched the knife free, shoving the demon to the side and off of Cas.

Scrambling to his feet, Cas held out his hand, chanting in Latin. The demon's body twitched and black smoke poured from from its mouth.

Dean looked around. There were two other bodies on the ground.

Cas knelt next to the body, placed a hand on the neck of the demon's vessel, shook his head.

Moving to the next closest body, Dean squatted down, there was a stab wound through its heart.

"I couldn't exorcise the demon," Cas said, gazing down at the body next to Dean.

"You had to defend yourself."

"I know."

Dean glanced at the other body. That host hadn't survived either.

"Thank you for the timely arrival," Cas said, as they moved by unspoken agreement toward the door. "How did you get back here?"

"It's a long story," Dean said, as they stepped into the sunshine. "I promise I'll tell you one day."

Cas looked at him. It felt even more intense than Cas's usual look. "Okay."

"Come on," Dean said, lifting a hand and squeezing Cas's shoulder briefly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

"I'm down with that," Cas said.

Dean stopped walking and turned to stare at Cas.

"I didn't say it right, did I?"

"You said it just right," Dean answered and resumed walking toward the Impala, Cas at his side.


End file.
